


The Snow Maiden

by Twelfthpaldi



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coffee Shops, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Holding Hands, Holidays, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Snow, Winter, introspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-13 09:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9116647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twelfthpaldi/pseuds/Twelfthpaldi
Summary: "The first time Beka slipped his hand into Yuri’s was a complete surprise."





	1. COFFEE

The first time Beka slipped his hand into Yuri’s was a complete surprise.

“Be careful, Yura,” he said, tightening his grasp around Yuri’s fingers. “I don’t want to lose you in this crowd,” It was true – Saint Petersburg was ridiculously busy during this time of year. With sunset just before four o’clock, the darkness and punishing cold did not seem to deter the holiday merry makers. The skating exhibition held the day prior had sold out well in advance of the actual event, and Yuri and Beka had both performed for a packed house. Now the exhibition was over and Beka was flying back to Almaty tomorrow. Yuri felt guilty for not inviting his companion out to see the city, although Beka had already visited nearly a dozen times since their first meeting. The holiday season was a special occasion in Saint Petersburg, Yuri supposed. It was something that Beka might not want to miss out on.

Personally, Yuri found the time of year somewhat annoying. All holidays, even if they represented a chance to go home and visit his grandpa in Moscow, took away from his training time. Although his third trip to the Grand Prix final had just finished, Yuri disliked the idea of taking time off. He could still skate during the off-season... in fact, he planned to. He would not have even agreed to perform in the exhibition at all if it hadn’t been for Yakov’s insistence. But since he had discovered that Beka was skating, too, Yuri devised some “fun” plans for them to celebrate together. Perhaps there was no harm in easing off the gas pedal for a few days.

That was how the two skaters arrived in the shopping district downtown, window gazing and looking at decorations. Women in outrageous fur coats bustled past, toting huge bags from various upscale boutiques. Children, on a winter break from school, bobbed back and forth between the grown-ups, sucking on candy canes and lollipops. Usually crowds annoyed Yuri. It was fun with Beka, though - no one else had the same effect. Yuri felt mellow, almost like he was enjoying himself in the unfamiliar situation. Beka was having fun too. Yuri could tell from the soft unconscious smile his companion had been wearing since Yuri had picked him up at his hotel. It wasn’t even that cold, especially in the crowded areas. Beka's hand was suddenly so suffocatingly warm in Yuri's that he felt overheated. Yuri shook his arm away, adopting a grumpy expression. 

"I'm not a little kid," he complained, willing the hotness away from his face. "You won't 'lose' me," 

Beka chuckled. "What if _you_ lose sight of me?" That cracked Yuri's facade as he couldn't help but grin. He had grown to a full three inches taller than Beka, a fact that he lorded over his friend on a regular basis.  

"I won't forget about you, promise," he told him teasingly. The words sounded disgustingly saccharine after they came out. Beka didn't seem to care, laughing and turning his face back to the walkway. They moved in silence, arms bumping occasionally. The soft sounds of music wafted over the heads of the crowd, coming from an open door up ahead. 

"Let's get coffee," Beka suggested, motioning towards the entryway - it was a small coffeehouse, one that Yuri had been to several times. It was a trendy hot-spot for the young adults in Saint Petersburg; artisan coffee beans and kitschy decorations made the place worth visiting for most of the city's denizens. Mila had been there at least twenty times, describing each trip to her rinkmates in vivid detail. Yuri, on the other hand, thought it sounded kind of lame, but he wouldn't tell Beka that. After all, the night was growing colder outside, and the warm and inviting light from within was tempting. Yuri glanced inside as they approached - it wasn't too busy, for once. 

"Okay, I guess," he agreed as they stepped inside. Beka held the door open as he moved aside for Yuri to go first. The room was more crowded than it originally appeared, although there were still enough rickety tables and chairs for all the guests. The smell of brewing espresso permeated the room, matching the golden light reflected from the walls. A grand piano was crammed into the front of the room, too small for the space, with the pianist playing the music that Yuri had heard as they approached. Fortunately, a cluster of small tables was available near the side windows, so Yuri placed his satchel in one of the chairs. 

"Please, sit down," Beka urged him, pulling out the chair next to Yuri's bag. The wooden seat, with its chipped green paint and wobbly left legs, looked like it had seen better days, but Yuri supposed it was a part of the appeal. "I'll get the drinks," 

"Are you sure?" Yuri raised an eyebrow, surprised. He sat down in the proffered chair and looking back over his shoulder, allowing Beka to push him close to the table. Well, it wasn't uncommon for Beka to order for both of them, but there was something unusual in his body language. More stoic than usual, perhaps, with a hint of timidity that Yuri was slowly becoming more aware of. 

"Of course," Beka replied, removing his leather jacket and draping it over the back of the chair next to Yuri's. The neck and chest of his burgundy turtleneck were dotted with errant snowflakes, quickly melting into the fabric in the warmer environment. As the Kazakhstani skater moved towards the barista counter, Yuri let his attention wander. He enjoyed people-watching. The chatter of the room was soft and generic enough that no conversation really stood out. A peal of laughter erupted from one corner of the room, apparently in response to a joke that had been told at that table. The pianist finished his song and moved onto the next. Yuri continued his roving gaze, feeling contented. 

Something else suddenly caught his eye. Three tables down, closer to the front doors, two young men were obviously on a date. Yuri's first instinct was to be annoyed - gross. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he liked guys, but it often seemed like his only 'role models' in that area were Victor and the Japanese Yuuri, always giggling and touching and being stupid right in front of him. But these two guys didn't seem like that at all, a fact for which Yuri was grateful. They appeared to be deeply engaged in conversation, almost insulated from the world around them. The darker-haired of the duo's face was visible from Yuri's seat - he looked sort of like Beka, Yuri thought, all undercut and dark eyes. He was engrossed in whatever his partner was saying, reacting at appropriate intervals with a concentrated and serious expression on his face. Yuri smirked - yes, definitely like Beka. He kept watching as the other leaned forward, moving his lover's coffee out of the way to press a kiss to his lips. Truthfully, Yuri wasn't much for PDA, but for some reason, it was difficult to look away. It should have been irritating. Instead it seemed kind of---

"What are you looking at?" Beka sat down in the chair opposite Yuri, blocking his view of the couple as he pushed one of the coffees he was holding in Yuri's direction. Yuri mentally noted that he should ask Beka how much he owed him for the drink, but that could wait until later. For now, he just grasped the top of the cup, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. 

"Nothing, just looking around," But it was too late - Beka was already glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the couple Yuri had been watching. When his gaze returned forward, he was wearing an unreadable smirk. 

"Nice," he remarked. There was always a stiff awkwardness in Beka's responses to the world around him. It was almost as if he wasn't sure how to translate his own emotions into an appropriate reaction. Instead, they came out strangely filtered. This time was no exception. At any rate, Yuri ignored him, opting instead to sip his coffee. It was hot and bitter, with just a dash of cream. Just the way Yura liked it. Beka's attention to detail was a little freaky. Right now, the pianist had started another tune, a familiar Russian folk melody popular around Christmas-time. It quickly captured Beka's interest. "I like this song,"

" _Snegurochka,_ " Yuri said absently. His mind had found another topic, one that he had forgotten was bothering him until that moment. "In... In Almaty, you---"

"The Snow Maiden," Beka interrupted him, propping his elbow on the table. "It's a fairy tale. Your culture's holiday traditions are sweet, Yura,"

"They're stupid," Yuri corrected, rolling his eyes. "Her heart was melted by love? That's really... predictable. Anyway, in Al---"

He was quickly interrupted again. "Just because something's predictable doesn't make it stupid," Beka stated calmly, raising his cup to sip his coffee. Yuri huffed.

"Don't interrupt me, dammit!" he said. But it was difficult to keep a venomous tone to his voice with Beka looking at him over the rim of his cup and the nice atmosphere of the cafe infecting his mood. "It doesn't matter... it's still stupid whether or not it's predictable," 

"If you say so," Beka chuckled. His expression was so fond that Yuri averted his eyes. "Well, what did you want to ask me?"

Yuri swallowed. He wasn't quite sure why he was asking this question, other than the fact that he wanted to know the answer. He did and he didn't simultaneously. This was a terrible idea - curiosity killed the cat. "In Almaty, you're dating a girl now, right?"

"Why do you ask?" There was a strange edge that he was not expecting in Beka's tone. The man had lowered his coffee as well, looking at Yuri with serious eyes. 

"No reason. I'm just curious," Yuri said, trying to sound as casual as possible. Like he wasn't being nosy at all. Like who his friend dates is any of his business whatsoever. Victor was always just spreading gossip, after all. It was impossible to tell if he shared this rumor out of true belief in its accuracy or just to get under Yuri's skin. 

The muscles in Beka's shoulders seemed to relax. His gaze on Yuri softened as well, his dark eyes becoming much less intensely focused. "Oh. Not really," Not really? What kind of answer was that? Yuri took another sip of his coffee. After being an unwilling confidant to all of Victor and Georgi's romantic problems over the years, he wasn't in the mood to hear anything of the sort from Beka. He didn't trust himself to hope that maybe Beka liked guys too. 

The pianist played the last chord of The Snow Maiden, a soft drifting melody up into the highest octave. Beka looked down at the table slowly swirling his coffee cup. Yuri followed his gaze down to the swirling cream on top of his coffee - an elegant spiral. It reminded Yuri of one of Beka's short program outfits: a chocolate brown jacket with darker piping along the edges of the collar. He had, of course, looked as dashing as ever. Yuri still seized the opportunity to tease him relentlessly about it. He told him he looked like a gingerbread man, that his coach had no taste in clothes. But then he remembered patting Beka on the shoulder before their first competition together that season. Another word in their secret language of high fives and thumbs up - _you look handsome,_ it said there. It would be nice to be seventeen again, Yuri supposed. The two years since then felt like a lifetime. 

"Do you think your heart will ever be melted by love?" Beka broke through Yuri's thoughts. He was wearing a knowing smirk on his lips again as he raised the coffee away from Yuri's view for a sip. Yuri's eyes followed to Beka's lips before he glanced away, making a sound of disgust. 

"God, Beka, you're so cheesy," he complained, pushing away the hotness that threatened to rise to his face. "No, I don't think my 'heart will be melted by love.' Whatever the hell that actually means," 

"The Snow Maiden," said Beka pedantically. Yuri looked at him through narrowed eyes that said, in their secret language, _I'll climb across this table and strangle you._ Unfortunately, a pink tinge had appeared on his cheeks that his pale complexion had no hope of hiding. Beka looked pleased with this victory. 

X-X-X 

It was well past nine when the two returned to the street. Yuri couldn't believe that they blew an entire hour and a half in that cafe, but, well... Beka had started talking about his new training rink back in Almaty and of course Yuri had to get interested. Everything Beka had to say was interesting, Yuri thought absently. 

"I have an early flight tomorrow," Beka murmured from beside him, his breath an opaque cloud in the icy air. "Nine o'clock," 

"That's not early," Yuri argued. The warm, cozy mood of the coffeehouse had left him feeling good. The street suddenly seemed a lot brighter and less cold than it had before. Unfortunately, the dew from nightfall had made the ice slippery, rendering the sidewalks much less navigable than before. An admirable number of pedestrians were still braving the night, but Yuri was sad to realize that his evening with Beka was coming to a close. "I guess you want to get back to the hotel and start packing,"

"We don't have to go right away," Beka replied amiably. "Aren't you having fun?"

"Yes," said Yuri defensively. Why did Beka always have to phrase things like that? "I was just thinking of your early morning," 

Beka chuckled. "It's not that early," he deflected, echoing Yuri's words. "Besides, you, being thoughtful?" He didn't really follow through with the jibe, but the meaning was heavily implied in the grin on his face. Yuri mock-punched him in the arm, drawing his fist back before it could make a solid impact. He was also returning Beka's infectious smile before he himself had a chance to realize it. 

It was then that the slipperiness of the curb got the better of him. The soles of his shoes, with their flimsy designs in rubber, were designed with looks in mind, not safety on a treacherous surface. Yuri was falling, nearly stumbling out into the road. He bit back a gasp, looking over his shoulder into the headlights of the oncoming traffic. 

“Watch out,” Beka reached for Yuri’s arm, and this time, in his panic, Yuri expected it. Beka’s hand was warm and firm in his, pulling him away from the traffic and back up onto the curb. Yuri managed to find his footing on the pavement. 

“Sorry,” he huffed, pushing his hair out of his face with his free hand. “These stupid sidewalks are always so…” It was then that he made eye contact with his savior and his words stopped short in his throat. Beka was looking at him with _those_ eyes - the piercing, focused eyes Yuri had seen when they had first met four years ago. But there was a different softness there too, a sort of worry, that was altogether prone and unfamiliar. It was almost like longing, as strange as it seemed to imagine that emotion in Beka's expression. Yuri had definitely never seen it there before. The two were frozen, their eyes locked for a moment before Beka averted his gaze. It was a rare surrender - usually Yuri was the one to look away first.

“No, I’m sorry,” he murmured. His voice was low and soft, devoid of any adrenaline. “I tripped you,”

Yuri cleared his throat. He felt like he was suddenly hesitant to make more noise than he had to, despite the movement of the street around them. A woman walked behind them on her cell phone, chatting loudly in Russian. It seemed to break Beka from his trance – he released Yuri’s hand and turned away, starting to walk quickly in the direction they had been heading. Yuri followed, feeling faintly uneasy on his feet, trying to catch up with Beka’s hasty pace. What a strange moment - almost bizarre, Yuri thought, in its unfamiliarity. Beka's ears looked redder than they had before, but Yuri couldn’t see his face. Maybe it was just the cold.  

"Hey, wait up," he protested. "My legs are frozen from being out here!" Beka slowed until Yuri reached him - his expression was unreadable.

"I think... I think I should start packing," he said evenly, refusing to meet Yuri's gaze. It was painfully obvious now - something was amiss. But what? Yuri just looked at him in utter confusion.

"What's wrong?" he asked before he could stop himself. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Yura..." Beka turned away. Yuri's stomach did a nervous backflip.

"C'mon, you know I'm sorry if I did. I'm an asshole, right? Let's just..."

"It's nothing," Beka interrupted him. But he had still turned just halfway to facing him, his profile cast in shadow. His head was bowed, his expression more sad than dour. Frankly, it did little to reassure Yuri that nothing was the matter. "Let's go back to the hotel,"

The streets were quieter on the way back into the other side of town. It was like the merry atmosphere had been sucked out of the evening. Beka remained silent, walking at a slow but steady pace. He had moved to the outside of the sidewalk, perhaps to discourage Yuri from almost falling off the curb again. Yuri didn't know how to breach this uncomfortable silence. It was like walking beside a stranger, he thought. This didn't seem like Beka at all. Yuri resolved that he would find out what was wrong. But for now, he couldn't bring himself to make a sound. Instead he remained silent, listening to the sound of their feet on wet pavement.


	2. CONFESSIONS

The decorations in the city were the same as ever, although maybe it was a good thing. Saint Petersburg was cold, yes, but it wasn't enough to rob the citizens of the city of a festive mood. The city square actually looked better than last year by miles, but it was a little rough around the edges. The rooftops, dusted white from the recent snowfall, were lined with soft yellow-white lights that flickered slightly in the wind. Cutout plastic snowflakes were plastered on the streetlamps, icy from the sleet but holding in there well enough. The fountain in the center, oversized in its majesty, was shut off, but not before sharp icicles had coated every glistening curve. Yuri knew it wasn't really a part of the decoration, but it was his favorite part - all those plines of ice, arching towards the earth. Somehow it fit perfectly with the tacky snowflakes and dimming lights, a cynical portrait of a bone-chilling Russian winter. It was this scene, after all, that was enough to make Yuri grab hold of Beka's sleeve, beckoning him over to the square. "Let's stop. I don't think you should miss this,"

They began a slow walk across the square. Yuri sneaked a sidelong glance at Beka and found that his expression was as placid as ever. To a bystander, nothing was the matter at all - just two friends enjoying the last of the evening. But Yuri still felt weighed down by what happened earlier. He wasn't one to dwell on meaningless bullshit. Usually when something bad or awkward happened he just brushed it off, only stewing on it if it seemed like it might do long-lasting damage. This was Beka he was talking about, though - nothing fazed the Kazakhstani skater, not even his rudest critics attacking him directly. Hell, Yuri had said some pretty offensive things in his vicinity without even earning a blink. So why was he suddenly sensitive?

They paused next to the fountain. Yuri turned to Beka. At the very least, he would try one last time. He didn't want their evening to end like this. Everything had been perfect, and now his impatience was eating him up. "Beka," he said. His companion looked over, angling his body more towards Yuri's as an indication that he was listening. His eyes were dark and concentrated, boring holes into Yuri's. Yuri swallowed. "I'm sorry about whatever happened earlier, okay?"

"You have nothing to apologize for," Beka said. The streetlamps behind him cast his face into shadow, a halo of light casting his silhouette into vivid detail. Yuri could have sworn he was trembling slightly. "It was my fault. I tripped you," The exact repitition of his earlier words, coupled with the uncertainty of his tone, was enough to give Yuri pause. Okay, something was definitely still wrong.

"That's not it, is it?" Yuri protested, his brow furrowing. He was pissed off. He couldn't figure out why Beka was being so obtuse, unless he was doing it purposefully, just pretending in order to shut Yuri up. But that didn't sound like Beka at all. "You've been acting weird ever since then, but---"

"It's stupid!" Beka interrupted him sharply. A passing car's headlights flashed across them, illuminating Beka's face suddenly. He looked upset, his eyes wide and brow furrowed. "I'm being stupid. I don't want to talk about it anymore," Wow. That seemed a little harsh. From Beka - okay, perhaps more than a little. Yuri was shocked into silence. He made a valiant effort to close his dropped jaw, redirecting his gaze towards the fountain. What was that about? He could still feel Beka's eyes on him, piercing through him like thin fabric. It brought to mind the way he had looked at him after he pulled him out of the road. That unknown emotion that Yuri had seen in his gaze - so soft and concerned, but not exactly that. A few heartbeats passed before Beka said, "I'm sorry, Yura. That was cruel,"

Yuri looked back to his friend. Beka's face had softened - now, he seemed more sad than upset. It was possibly even more disconcerting to Yuri. "It's fine," he told him. "I just wish you'd tell me what's wrong with you, you've been acting..." He trailed off, unable to keep the frustration from seeping into his voice towards the end. 

"It's not important," Beka replied, ignoring the disgruntled noise Yuri made. "What's important is that we can enjoy the rest of our time together,"

"Okay," Yuri conceded hesitantly. "It _has_ turned out to be a nice night, I guess," It was true - the crowds had dissipated, the harshness of the frozen wind had abated, and the clouds had parted to reveal a beautiful view of the open sky. The twinkling of faraway stars could be seen through the haze of light and fog that always lingered above Saint Petersburg, tiny pinpricks glinting out from the darkness. The streetlamps were still glowing warmly, giving a nice cast of ambient light over the square.  Maybe it was a picturesque scene, like something out of a red-enveloped Christmas card. There was also Beka beside him, a warm, real presence. Of course, he was the real reason it was a nice night.

"Yeah," Beka replied. They stood in silence for a moment, looking up at the fountain. Then Beka cleared his throat, and with the sound of a man who had undergone a great deal of deliberation, said very evenly, "I'm taking next season off from skating, Yura,"

Yuri thought at first that he must have misheard him. "What?"

"I'm taking next season off," Beka repeated, turning his head to look at Yuri. "I fell in practice two weeks ago - stress fracture in my knee and a strained ACL. The doctors say they aren't sure if it can heal correctly... back to the way it was, I mean. I need time off if I ever want to skate again,"

"The exhibition," Yuri said weakly. He wasn't able to fully process this confession. "You were fine, you were---"

"I have to do this. If I ever want to skate again," Beka repeated the last part as if saying it would make it a fact. But it just felt like something was stealing the air from between them, molecule by molecule, until there was nothing left but the sudden silence.

Yuri was holding his breath, mind turning over what Beka had just told him. A season off from skating? An injury that may never heal properly? It was all too sudden to comprehend. 

"You'll be better soon," he said. His voice sounded weirdly detached from himself, a strange echo in his own ears. "You'll come back next season,"  He said it, but he didn't believe it. The reality hit him like a ton of sand, thick and suffocating.  Yuri knew full well that most skaters at Beka's age who took a season break never came back to their prime. With this injury, it was even less likely. This felt like a permanent surrender.

"Yeah, I hope so," Beka sighed. The white cloud of his breath diffused into the chilly air between them. Yuri remained silent, so Beka continued. "Since I won't be... well... we won't have a chance to see each other again for a while," 

"Don't be an idiot," Yuri said quickly. Now his voice was artificially bright and brash - anything to aid with the compartmentalization of feelings that were threatening to eat their way out of his chest right then. It sounded sufficiently like him though, so he pressed on. "I'll... I'll come to Almaty if I have to,"

"You would do that?" Beka looked surprised, a barely distinguishable change of expression before he returned to blankness. "I don't... well, never mind,"

The silence fell over the two of them again. Yuri's mind was turning over this new information again and again. Beka couldn't skate - what would he do? Get a job? He wasn't surrounded by coaches and assistants like Yuri was. He had to make his own way in the world, and a loss of income like that could be a serious threat. Besides, if Beka was hurt, he couldn't even skate for fun. It was a stupid thought, Yuri was well aware. It slowly dawned on him that he didn't even know if Beka liked to skate for enjoyment anymore. Yuri himself didn't. He blankly wondered what activities the injuries could allow, how long they would take to heal completely. Running? Even walking? He wondered if it hurt. Yesterday, Beka's skating had been flawless - effortless yet concentrated, like it always was. Now, Yuri was wondering if he should have looked more closely for some sign that Otabek Altin was anything less than superhuman.

Beka was the first to speak again. "This evening has been wonderful," he said quietly. Yuri looked over at him. His gaze was directed at the ground, eyelashes stark in the backlight. "Thank you for your company, Yura," It sounded very final.  

"You don't have to---" Yuri felt an unfamiliar constriction of his throat. Next year, he would compete in figure skating just like he always did... and Beka wouldn't. He would be alone. Yuri and Beka would both be alone. Yuri tried to continue, but the words wouldn't come out. He swallowed, grumbling to himself as he tried to push the tight feeling away. It came out more like a whimper. 

"I do," came Beka's firm reply. "I do have to. Tonight was wonderful. Nothing could have made me happier before---"

"You're not dying, are you? This is the kind of stuff that people say when they're dying," Yuri tried to make the joke sound natural, but his feelings were still trying to crawl up his throat and the tears that were welling up in his eyes made him look like an idiot. He hoped that Beka wouldn't see. It was unfortunate that very few details escaped his companion's notice. Besides, the choke in his voice was a dead giveaway. 

"Oh, please don't cry, Yura," Suddenly Beka had his arms around Yuri, and Yuri was sniffing, valiantly trying to keep his nose from running on Beka's sweater. Beka's hands found a place to rest on Yuri's back, warm and grounding, but somehow it didn't make Yuri feel any better. He was thinking back to all of the years he and Beka had known each other, had been friends and rivals on the rink... and it seemed that their time together in that way was coming to an end. Yuri preferred to keep his feelings inside for the most part. But he suddenly realized that he never told Beka how much he meant to him, how glad he was that the two of them could spend time together. Remaining silent all those years now seemed like a horrible mistake. The rest of their skating - the medals, god, the endless medals between them - seemed so far away.  _Is this what regret feels like?_ Yuri thought, letting his face sink into the burgundy knit of Beka's turtleneck. 

They stood there like that for a few moments, Yuri wrapped up in Beka's strong arms. Beka had started rubbing gentle circles into Yuri's shoulders and making soothing noises into Yuri's ponytail. Yuri tried not to cry, but he couldn't help it. The tears just wouldn't stop coming. He was making a scene, he thought distantly, but since there were hardly any other people in the square now, he couldn't bring himself to care. After a while they broke apart. Yuri brushed a hand across his face, clearing away any wetness before Beka could see. There was still a wet spot on Beka's shirt but there wasn't anything that could be helped with that.  "C-Come back to my apartment with me," Yuri managed, stammering over his words. "I don't want to be alone tonight," 

"Okay, let's go," Beka agreed. Yuri raised a silent prayer of thanks. He didn't want to let Beka go back to his hotel, to go back to Almaty. He was going to hold onto him for as long as he could. The two started back down the sidewalk. "Here, be careful," Beka said. "I don't want you to slip and fall again," The warmth of Beka's fingertips found Yuri's, and this time neither of them pulled away at all.

X-X-X

"I can cancel my flight," Beka's suitcase was quilted navy blue, nearly purple in the strange lighting of the hotel elevator, Yuri observed through bleary eyes. Crying had done little to improve his sinuses for the Saint Petersburg weather - rather, he felt like his eyeballs had frozen on the walk. Beka had held his hand gently the whole way back. _I'm so weak,_ Yuri thought. He had never cried - really cried - in front of Beka before. Maybe the circumstances didn't even warrant the tears shed. After all, they did have a wonderful evening together.   

Yuri thought of what Beka had said earlier. _We don't have to go right away. Aren't you having fun?_ Knowing the secret behind those pregnant words was much less fun than their evening together had been. Beka was retiring from skating. Well, not retiring exactly - taking a year off. But when Yuri remembered the pictures he had snapped of Beka blowing out the candles on his 23rd birthday cake, it felt more like a retirement. At home in Kazakhstan, it wasn't like he had the support structures that Yuri did - it would be a difficult climb to recovery. Of course, Beka couldn't have prevented it. His strained ACL alone would take extensive physical therapy to recover completely, depending on the severity, and even then there were no guarantees.

"You don't have to do that," Yuri answered. "You have to go home," He was immediately embarrassed by the sound of his own voice - it was obvious he had been crying. He thought of the lady at the front desk who recognized him immediately and congratulated him on his beautiful performance at the exhibition. If Beka had been there, Yuri might have burst into tears again. Instead, he had thanked her politely before handing her Beka's room key to check him out of the hotel.

They started off down the sidewalk. Yuri's apartment was only a few blocks from the hotel, moving into a more residential area of the city. The late night had grown much colder and very few people were still out by this time. A frozen wind had begun blowing over the city, bringing with it flecks of ice and snow that stuck to Yuri's face. He looked forward to reaching his apartment, where the warmth of the building's heating could protect him and Beka from the elements. They walked in silence, save for the clicking of Beka's suitcase wheels. The man traveled light, Yuri observed, for someone with so few handlers. One suitcase and an over-the-shoulder bag would not be nearly enough to hold everything Yuri would want for a week-long trip. 

"We're here," Yuri informed Beka. He didn't really need to tell him - Beka had visited Yuri's flat in Saint Petersburg once before during a previous visit. Truthfully, Yuri could definitely afford more luxiorous accommodations than a sketchy apartment on the seventh floor of a near-condemnable complex just outside downtown. However, as long as he came to the rink every day, practiced and won medals, did it really matter where he laid his head at night? He could send his award money to his grandpa and still have pocket change for clothes, shoes and food. He pushed a strand of peeling wallpaper in the stairwell out of the way as they traveled upwards. The elevator had been broken for three weeks - most of the residents were angry, but Yuri embraced the extra chance to stretch his legs. 

He found himself wishing it was slightly more homey - it would be gratifying to bring Otabek back to the nicest apartment money could buy. This feeling, impossible to name, was new. It made Yuri feel a little bit anxious. Maybe in a few years, he'd have somewhere better to invite him. 

When they reached the seventh floor landing, Yuri led down the hall to an unassuming door bearing the number 749. He slotted the key absently into the lock, acutely aware of Beka's solid presence behind him. He silently prayed his flat didn't look like a disaster area, but he couldn't quite recall. "Nice to be out of the cold," Beka broke the silence between them. Yuri nodded his agreement before pushing the door open and entering the apartment. 

The mess was not as devastating as he had remembered - some piles of books and clothes were strewn across the living room, and the bed beyond was a jumble of blankets Yuri had scavenged to keep warm. Beka sat his suitcase and bag down beside the door. Yuri gestured to the bathroom door. "I need to shower," He felt gross, mainly because of the salty tears dried on his cheeks. A sour reminder that his facade was suddenly a lot thinner than it had been. He needed to clear his head. "You should go first, if you want," 

"It's fine," Beka moved over to the couch, pushing a pile of jackets out of the way to clear a space to sit. "You go ahead, I'll be right here," Yuri knew there was no point arguing with Beka when he was trying to be a gentleman. It was, after all, one of Beka's most persistent moods aside from 'neutral.'

Yuri pushed the door to the bathroom open before starting the shower. At least this way the water would be warm for Beka, he thought. The complex's water heater was notoriously cantankerous. The yellow lights above the mirror revealed just how pitiful Yuri looked. Dark splotches were still visible under his red-rimmed eyes - embarrassing. Yuri stripped down and stepped under the warm water, letting it flow over his hair and his face. 

His mind wandered over everything that had transpired. He supposed that Beka taking a year off wasn't earth-shattering. Maybe Yuri overreacted. Still, with the way Beka had acted just before he had told Yuri, it seemed like the most tragic news in the world. Besides, there would be too many changes between them now. Why did this have to happen now? Yuri and Beka had spent a full five weeks together this past year, an unprecedented amount for the two of them, especially with their busy schedules. They had even spent both of their birthdays in each other's company, a rare treat that seemed unlikely to happen again. Yuri puffed out an anxious sigh, watching the droplets of water splash against the white tile of the shower wall. It didn't seem like he and Beka would see each other for a while. What did that mean - six months? A year? Never? The future was suddenly uncertain in a way that Yuri had never expected. 

He contemplated what he said about visiting Almaty. He had never been to the city before, surprisingly enough. Beka always had decent things to say about the place. Of course, Yuri wouldn't go to see the city, only to see Beka. There was no guarantee that Beka would even keep living in Almaty if he wasn't skating. Everything in the world suddenly seemed so nebulous, Yuri thought sadly. He wondered if he would be able to escape from Yakov and his rigorous training regimen. He was going to work on developing his programs for next season by the end of March. He realized unhappily that he was barely looking forward to getting an early start. 

He let the water run cold for a moment before stepping out and toweling off. Pulling the hairdryer out from under the sink and running it over his hair was simple enough - no sense in sleeping on a wet head in this weather. He found that he felt better, but his head was no clearer than it had been before. His mind felt as dark and void-like as the view outside of the bathroom window. The swirling snowflakes landing on the glass, melting to join with the ice along the bottom moulding, were a reminder of the frozen world outside, as far away as the start of the evening.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm aiming for around six chapters for this story, so look for the next installment coming soon. Please share your comments, questions and concerns below - I love to hear from you! A big thanks to my beta reader Eva (@JeSuisLePomme) for checking through this. Thanks again!
> 
> \- Abby


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